Redivivus Seasons
by wrtr74
Summary: The request was for a "sparkly vampire Cedric" story.
1. Prologue

Title: Redivivus (Seasons)

For: **mcqueens_queen** on **twoseekers** (LJ)

Rating: PG 14-ish... maybe verging on R because of violent parts.

Disclaimer: This is based on and uses characters and situations that belong to J.K. Rowling, and borrows heavily from Stephanie Meyer as well (the sparkly vampire bit). This is done for fun, not for profit. No copyright infringement intended.

Summary: The request was for a "sparkly vampire Cedric" story. It turned long...

**Redivivus (Seasons) Prologue: Like Snow**

Dumbledore looked up. It was rare for him to be surprised, particularly here, but this had been a trying night, and Snape had always been a special case.

"Will you excuse us, please?" he asked the Auror who had been taking his statement. Polite, unfailingly polite, though he might fail at all else. Barty Crouch's son, a Death Eater, in his school. Teaching children! A boy had died tonight, and Dumbledore knew exactly where the blame for that lay. He felt the weight of it.

He stood, thick robes sweeping the floor. Another kind of heaviness, that. He moved to Snape's side. "Severus, this is hardly the time."

"There's something you need to see. Immediately." The Auror would not be likely to notice the tightening of Snape's jaw, nor to recognize what it meant. If Dumbledore wore tradition, Snape wore masks. The fact was, Dumbledore had rarely seen him this upset.

"Of course." He murmured his apologies to the Auror, promising to return as soon as opportunity afforded itself. Then he followed his Potions Master to the small room off the Infirmary where Cedric Diggory lay.

The room was candlelit, the air still and heavy. The boy's parents had gone, at last, to find what solace they could in sleep or wakefulness. Dumbledore found his steps slowing, his robes dragging behind him as he approached the bed.

The room smelled of flowers.

Someone had arranged the boy, closed his eyes, folded his hands over his chest. Dumbledore suspected that it was Poppy's work, and made a mental note to thank her. Cedric had always been a handsome lad. Seeing him so pale and lifeless… something in Dumbledore's chest clenched.

Rather than disturb the silence, he looked his question at Snape.

Snape held himself stiffly. He swallowed once, the movement of his throat working his collar tight for a moment. Another man, Dumbledore thought, might have trembled. In such details we betray ourselves.

With a sudden splaying of his fingers, Snape darkened the candles in the room. "_Lumos_." His voice was steady.

The wand-light flared. It showed what the candles had not—Cedric's skin glittered like snow in sunlight. Dumbledore heard his own gasp. He gripped the bed-rail. Nothing else, he thought, could keep the weight of this from pulling him under.

"His skin is cold," Snape said. "Hard to the touch. You know what this means."

Not dead but undead.

"Enough," Dumbledore said. A surge of his will extinguished Snape's wand and lit the candles. He wanted the warmer light. "Harry said—"

"Potter lied." Under Dumbledore's glare, Snape softened. "Lied or was mistaken. He was overwrought, Albus. Who knows what he saw?"

"I know what he saw. I read it in his mind." He let his thoughts turn inwards, replaying what Harry had shown him. "Was there a wound?"

Snape shook his head. "No. That's the strange part. Strangest, rather."

Something tugged at his mind. A thought, a memory. "Keep watch over him, Severus. No one enters. I must consult my books."

Dumbledore barely registered Snape's nod as he swept from the room. Not dead but undead. It seemed that Voldemort's return was not to be their only challenge this night.


	2. Part One

Title: Redivivus (Seasons)

For: mcqueens_queen on twoseekers (LJ)

Rating: PG 14-ish... maybe verging on R because of violent parts.

Disclaimer: This is based on and uses characters and situations that belong to J.K. Rowling, and borrows heavily from Stephanie Meyer as well (the sparkly vampire bit). This is done for fun, not for profit. No copyright infringement intended.

Summary: The request was for a "sparkly vampire Cedric" story. It turned long...

**Part 1: A Scent of Flowers**

Harry fumbled into blurry wakefulness, the by-now-familiar smells of the infirmary ward reminding him of where he was. He felt hollow and heavy without being sure why.

There was a cry from a nearby room. That was what had woken him. Someone was upset. Someone… he tried to remember what had happened.

He sat up, wavering a little. The Dreamless Sleep potion wasn't properly out of his system yet. That was right. Dumbledore had given him Dreamless Sleep because… because…

Pettigrew. Voldemort. Cedric.

Harry fell back against his pillow. He bit his lip to keep the words inside because if he made a sound, he wasn't sure he'd be able to stop. Like whoever was crying in the next room.

A door in the infirmary opened and Madam Pomfrey came through, supporting a sobbing Mrs. Diggory. Harry closed his eyes, not wanting them to know he was awake. He shouldn't be seeing this, he knew. Her grief was a private thing.

"Now Celeste," Madam Pomfrey said. "We don't know everything yet. It may be reversible. And if any wizard can do that, it's Albus Dumbledore."

Reversible? Not… no, she couldn't mean Cedric. Harry had seen the curse hit him. Was something wrong with Mrs. Diggory? Or Cedric's father? Had they somehow been cursed, too?

"My boy," Mrs. Diggory said between gasps. "My baby boy. What have they done to you?"

Harry clenched his fingers around his bedsheet to keep from responding to her pain.

"It's hard," Madame Pomfrey said. " Of course you're upset. It's only natural. But the fact is, he was not bitten. None of us know what rules apply or whether or not he will be a danger. Dumbledore is quite certain he won't wake tonight, and likely not for another twenty-four hours. The best thing that you and Mr. Diggory can do is get some rest."

Harry heard the door open again. More footsteps. "I've arranged rooms for you in the castle," Dumbledore said. "Minerva will escort you."

"Take this," Madame Pomfrey said. "It will help. Mr. Diggory, none of that. Your wife needs you. Your son, just at this moment, does not. We'll bring you back here the moment anything changes."

Footsteps again. Another door opened and closed, then silence. Harry started to drift. The sharp sound of Madame Pomfrey walking towards him, across the stone floor, brought him back. He kept his eyes closed and his breathing even. A cool hand touched his wrist; fingers pressed against his pulse.

"Hmm," she said, but did not comment further. He heard a whispered spell, something that seemed to suggest he relax and let sleep take him, so he did.

When he woke later, he felt better. The infirmary was still dark. Soft light glowed from the door from which Madam Pomfrey and Mrs. Diggory had emerged, earlier—the room, he was sure, where Cedric's body was kept.

Or rather, not his body. Harry replayed the conversation he had overheard. Madame Pomfrey had said Cedric wouldn't wake _tonight_. That meant they expected him to wake up! Had he not been dead after all? Harry had been sure… but he wasn't a Healer. Maybe the curse hadn't hit Cedric properly.

Hope rose up inside him. Whatever else had happened in that graveyard, the worst of it had been losing Cedric. If Cedric was still alive…

He needed to know.

He swung his feet to the ground, grateful that someone had given him clean socks with his hospital gown. Even so, the stone floor was cold. He silently made his way to the lit door. Peering through the window, he saw Cedric lying on a bed, still dressed in his Triwizard Tournament robes, hands folded over his chest. He lay perfectly still, pale by candlelight. Harry saw no sign of breathing.

He turned away, defeated. Whatever he had thought… death was final. Harry of all people should know that. Cedric was dead.

"He is not."

Harry whirled. Snape stood framed in the now-open doorway of the room where Cedric lay.

"Potter. Breaking rules already, I see. You must be feeling better."

"You—I—what do you mean, he's not dead?"

Snape crossed his arms.

Harry glared up at him. "I heard Madame Pomfrey talking to Cedric's mother."

"Naturally. You have a talent for overhearing things you shouldn't. Nonetheless, I have no intention of keeping this from you, or I would hardly have spoken in the first place."

Harry waited. "Does that mean I can see him?" he asked, finally.

"Indeed," Snape said. "However, I require something from you. Dumbledore tells me he has viewed your memories of what happened. I wish to see them for myself."

"You want to look in my mind?" Harry tensed up. This was Snape.

"I assure you, it is hardly high on my list of desirable activities. You have information that I need, that is all."

"But Dumbledore—"

"Does not know everything. Or we would not be where we are tonight. Decide, Potter."

If he refused, Snape would call Madame Pomfrey, who would probably make Harry take another dose of Dreamless Sleep. He'd lose his chance to find out what had happened to Cedric. "Fine," he said.

Snape placed a hand on Harry's forehead—not his scar. "_Legilimens_," he said.

It was nothing like what Dumbledore had done. This hurt. Harry felt wrenched, dragged through a narrow vortex of memories until he reached the graveyard. The Snape slowed things down and replayed the scene in excruciating detail. When he finally released Harry, Harry staggered back, head pounding.

Snape caught his elbow before he fell. "It will pass," he said. He led Harry into the small room and deposited him on a wooden chair, tucked up against the wall by the door. No wonder Harry hadn't seen Snape when he looked in the room.

Harry sat, just breathing, waiting for the ache in his head to subside. There was a smell… like the flowers that came just after winter turned to spring. Not heavy, but tantalizing. A promise of warmth.

"You've noticed it," Snape said.

Harry looked up. Snape stood halfway between Harry's chair and the bed where Cedric lay.

"The scent is part of the change," Snape said. "How much did you overhear?"

"Not enough," Harry admitted. "Madame Pomfrey said Cedric might wake up. I don't understand."

"Hardly a novel sensation for you, and yet in this case, completely warranted. What happened to your friend goes beyond what is known of magic at this time." Snape eyed Harry. "Much as was the case with you, thirteen years ago."

Harry wasn't in the mood for puzzles. "Could you please just tell me?" He caught Snape's glare. "Sir."

"For an Unforgivable curse to work, the caster must be sincere in his intent to harm," Snape said. "It seems that in this case, there was a conflict. Pettigrew's fear of the Dark Lord gave the spell enough power for it to have effect, however, the effect was not the desired one."

Harry rubbed at his head. Did Snape have to make everything complicated? "So what does that mean?"

"The spell's intent was death. Pettigrew's subconscious intent was not-death. As a result, Cedric Diggory is dead and not-dead at the same time."

"I don't get it."

"A vampire, Potter. A vampire created without having been bitten, possibly without the virus running in his veins. The first of his kind." Possibly without meaning to, Snape turned to look at Cedric. Harry took the opportunity to cross to the bed.

"He looks the same," Harry said.

"In this light, yes," Snape said. He caught Harry's hand when Harry reached out to touch Cedric. "Be careful."

"Madame Pomfrey said he wouldn't wake up tonight."

"Madame Pomfrey has no more idea what to expect than the rest of us."

Cedric opened his eyes. He stared straight at Harry.

His irises were pitch black.

* * *

Sometimes Cedric thought he really was dead. Dead in the true sense, not dead in the walking-around-without-a-pulse-because-he-was-a-vampire sense. He was dead and this was some bizarre nightmare hell where he was being punished for every wrong thing he'd ever done.

Or perhaps he was insane. But didn't they say that if you thought you were crazy, you weren't? Cedric was self aware enough to know how absolutely bloody twisted and wrong his situation was. Probably not insane, then. But if he had to spend another day locked in the Room of Requirement, he might be.

He paced. Pacing was what he did, what he spend most of his time doing, because his body didn't want to sit still, and he certainly didn't seem to need to sleep—not since Snape had Stunned him, or whatever he had done, and Cedric had woken up alone in this bloody room with only a note to explain things.

There was a window. He couldn't break it; he had tried. But he was grateful that the room had decided he needed to be able to see the outside world. Otherwise, with no way to mark the passing hours, he might have gone mad.

Assuming he wasn't already.

And there he was, come back full circle to insanity again. His thoughts never seemed to get past that, anymore. He'd been here for three days.

He remembered the graveyard. "Kill the spare." A splitting pain, then blackness. The next thing he remembered was Harry. He had known, somehow, that Harry was nearby. He had woken up, seen him, and lunged, not even sure what he needed, only that he had to get to Harry. He still cringed over that. Merlin, what kind of a monster was he? Harry was his friend.

Snape had shouted. There had been another burst of light, this time red, and then Cedric had woken up in here.

With a bloody note. He spoke aloud. It was comforting, sometimes, to talk to himself. At least it was a voice. "Dear Cedric, you're a vampire. Sorry about that. Please wait here while we sort out your non-life."

All right, the note hadn't said that in so many words, but it might as well have.

He let his pacing carry him to the window. He approached it from the side, never directly. Cedric didn't stand in the sun unless he wanted to see. He reached his hand out now, letting the sun wash over it. Even filtered by the magical glass, the sunlight lit his skin. Diamonds or crushed glass, that was what it looked like. Something sharp and hard and unforgiving. He was strong, too; he had learned that during a temper tantrum on day two, when he trashed the room. Of course, the room had set itself to rights moments later. Hardly satisfying.

He pulled his hand back into shadow. Three times a day, food appeared. It was nearly time now. The room was slowly learning what he could and could not stomach, just as he was. Steak was good; the rarer, the better. Carbs were barely palatable; cooked vegetables an impossibility. There was always a potion, too. He wondered if Snape supplied it. It satisfied his hunger far more than the food did. He preferred not to think about what it might contain.

As if on cue, the small table by the wall shimmered, then reappeared covered in food. Today, though, there were two plates. Cedric wondered what that meant. Was he to have company? He touched the second plate, then pulled his hand back. Want and fear. He was a monster, now.

A door that hadn't been in the wall a moment ago opened. Professor Dumbledore walked through. "Cedric. Good afternoon," he said. "I trust you are hungry?" He held his wand in his right hand… loosely gripped, but visible nonetheless.

He seemed to notice Cedric looking at it. "A necessary precaution, my dear boy. I do apologize. This must have been truly terrible for you. Perhaps you would like to begin with the potion?"

But neither the food on the table, nor the potion in the glass smelled as delicious as Dumbledore did at that moment. He approached, keeping his eyes locked on Dumbledore's.

"Cedric," Dumbledore said. A warning.

Cedric circled, placing the table between them. It took all of his resolve to keep from leaping the table and attacking the Headmaster. "Go. Don't move fast, but go," he said.

"I have no intention of leaving," Dumbledore said. "I believe that you've been left to your own devices entirely too long as it is."

Cedric's tongue darted out and wet his lips. He stopped himself, mortified.

"Cedric. Drink the potion," Dumbledore said. The room darkened. Cedric sensed power rolling off the other man. For an instant, he stopped being afraid he would hurt Dumbledore and started wondering if Dumbledore might hurt him.

"I'll help you," Dumbledore said. Without even moving his wand, he levitated the glass over to Cedric. Cedric snatched it out of the air and gulped it down. His need abated. In its wake came humiliation.

"I'm sorry, sir. I—"

Dumbledore waved a hand. "No need, my dear boy. Indeed, I should apologize to you. It was a test. A necessary one, I believe, but I hated to subject you to such unpleasantness. Please. Won't you have a seat?" The two wooden chairs pulled themselves back from the table.

Slowly, carefully, Cedric took the one he was accustomed to using. Dumbledore seated himself facing Cedric.

"Your control is remarkable," Dumbledore said. "I believe that you may be ready for other visitors soon. After mealtimes may be easiest, to begin with."

_That_ was control?

Dumbledore's second comment seemed easier to answer. "My parents?"

"They are still… adjusting," Dumbledore said. "It may take some time."

Adjusting. To the fact that their only child was a monster. Cedric shoved his plate away.

"You need that," Dumbledore said. "Cedric… to what extent do you understand what has happened to you?"

"I'm a vampire," Cedric said. "Dangerous. That's why I'm in here."

"A vampire, yes. Dangerous… you could be. Although I have just watched you exert a truly impressive level of control. And you are in here as much for your own safety as for anyone else's. We simply do not know enough about your condition."

"Is it permanent?" That was the one question he had been burning to ask. Because if there was a chance that he could be human again, Cedric would do anything. He'd take a tiny shard of hope and build a life raft. But if not…

"I'm afraid I don't know. I have not yet given up hope," Dumbledore said. "If you'll be so kind as to eat your dinner while I speak, I'll tell you what we've learned."

So Cedric ate and listened. Sometimes he forgot to eat and Dumbledore had to remind him. At the end, he had his shard of hope: as long as Cedric did not truly feed—that is, did not taste the blood of any living creature—the transformation would not be complete. Snape thought that, with time, he might be able to reverse it. For now, that hope was all he had. It had to be enough.

* * *

Harry dreamed about Cedric at night. Not nightmares—not the sort he'd expect, at any rate, with the graveyard and Voldemort. Not the other kind of dream, either, the kind that woke him up hard and sometimes featured Cho but had, a time or two, featured Cedric or sometimes Oliver Wood.

Not that Harry would admit that to anyone. Ever.

In the dreams he had now, Cedric was waiting for him. Sometimes Harry caught a glimpse of him. He ran, down long corridors or through a maze that grew and changed, knowing that he had to get to where Cedric was, but having no idea how to do that. There was always that smell, the smell of spring flowers. And always a need. He woke up, sometimes, heart pounding, knowing he was too late.

On Monday night, Harry's second night free of the hospital wing (five nights since the graveyard, and would he always, always measure time that way?), a whispered _Lumos_ charm told him it was well past midnight when he woke. He had dreamed he was running through the maze. He woke up sweating and panicked. Cedric needed him.

Bloody hell. What was going on?

No point staying in bed. His dorm mates were all asleep. Harry grabbed his Invisibility Cloak and went wandering.

The castle was quiet, this late at night. Once he caught sight of the Grey Lady drifting down a corridor, but she was facing the other way. Not that she would have seen him anyhow, cloaked as he was.

He caught the scent again—the one from the small room, the one from his dream. It was stronger here, on the seventh floor. He walked along. Opposite him, the wall seemed to shimmer.

He stopped, then turned back to look at it again. It was an ordinary wall when he looked at it directly, but when he glanced away, seen from the corner of his eye it seemed to change—almost as though there were a door there. Or wanting to be there.

He placed his palm against the wall.

A warmth surrounded him. The wall changed, then. A door appeared, visible and real, even seen head-on. Even the texture of the wall changed beneath his hand, stone changing to wood.

Harry hesitated. The castle had its own magic, and it had never yet harmed him, but this was strange. He stepped away from the wall and the door disappeared. When he pressed his hand against it, it reappeared.

He heard footsteps coming up the stairs. His Cloak would hide him, but—he felt a sudden, strong urge to be inside the room before the opportunity was lost.

The door opened easily beneath his hand. He stepped into a candlelit room. There was a bed, a sitting area, a table and chairs. Seated at a desk, bent over a book, was Cedric Diggory. His head snapped up as though he had scented Harry. Harry lowered the hood of his Invisibility Cloak, showing his face.

"Don't move," Cedric said.

Harry froze.

* * *

Cedric stared at Harry, trying to calm himself. He could be across the room in a split second, he knew. Before Harry could move, before he could reach for his wand.

He wanted to.

As if Harry were prey. As if he were something to be hunted, not Cedric's friend.

Harry raised his hands in front of him. They stuck out from the Cloak, so that Harry appeared to be made up of a floating head and a pair of floating hands. It might have been unnerving, but Cedric didn't seem to rely on sight the way he had before. Sight was the least of his senses. Invisible or not, he knew exactly where Harry was. Knew how fast his heart was beating and that his skin had broken out in a light sweat.

"Cedric? What are you doing?" Harry asked.

Cedric realized that he had stood and was circling slowly. He stopped. "You shouldn't be here," he said.

"I don't even know where 'here' is," Harry said. "I haven't seen you since—are you all right?" He removed his Cloak.

The question was so incongruous that Cedric let out a choked laugh. "I've been better," he said. "I used to be alive, for one thing."

Harry didn't answer. Cedric wasn't sure what he had expected him to say, anyhow. Harry's heart rate slowed. Stupid. He shouldn't relax his guard so easily.

"You need to go," Cedric said.

Harry nodded slowly. He stepped back as though afraid to turn his back on Cedric. Behind him was solid wall. "The door is gone," he said. His heart sped up again.

"How did you make it appear?"

"I didn't," Harry said. "It just happened." He turned slightly, still keeping his eyes on Cedric, and touched the wall. Nothing changed. "I might need my wand," he said. "Is that all right?"

Cedric nodded. It was probably better, actually, if Harry did have his wand. He trusted Harry; it was himself he wasn't so sure of.

Harry tapped the wall. "_Alohomora_," he tried. Then "_Apparecium_," and "_Portus Revelio_," which Cedric was pretty sure wasn't even a real spell.

No door appeared.

"I don't think I can leave," Harry said.

"It's a test," Cedric said, remembering Dumbledore's sudden appearance the day before. "Either that or someone's trying to kill you." And hoping Cedric would take care of the messy work.

"You're not going to kill me," Harry said.

For some reason, his matter-of-fact tone enraged Cedric. "Do you even know what I am?"

"I know who you are," Harry said. "You're not going to kill me. If you were, you'd have done it by now. You're still Cedric." He took a step closer. "You're still my friend."

Cedric's mouth was suddenly dry. He was painfully aware of the pulse beating in Harry's neck. "Don't," he said. "Stay there. I need—"

On the table, a goblet appeared. He recognized the liquid by its scent, and lunged for it. It was the potion that always appeared with his meals. Dumbledore had told him that Snape had concocted it. He drained it in one long drink.

It was different, this time—the taste, the effect. It took the edge off his hunger, but off his senses, too. Harry's presence was no longer so acute. Cedric felt more able to relax.

He leaned on the table. If he still breathed, he'd have been panting, waiting for his heartbeat to return to normal. If he still had a heartbeat.

"It's all right now," he said finally. Harry had remained by the wall, not moving. "It's safe. You can come in."

"I'll come in," Harry said. "But it was always safe." His heartbeat told Cedric that even Harry didn't quite believe that.

Cedric smiled in a way that felt tight, then went to sit on the couch. After a moment, Harry joined him.

"Your eyes are different now," Harry said. "After you took the potion."

There was no mirror in the room. Cedric didn't want one. He had no idea what he looked like. "I didn't know," he admitted.

"They were darker before. Not black like when you first woke up, but darker than normal. Now they're more silver."

"Maybe this is what monsters look like when they're in a good mood." He couldn't help the edge to his voice. "I think there was a calming draught mixed in with… my drink." That was better. Almost civil.

"Don't you know? Didn't you Summon it?"

Cedric shook his head. "This room… it's strange. Dumbledore called it the Room of Requirement. It provides whatever is needed."

Harry started to laugh but stopped suddenly. He stared at Cedric. "It provided me."

"Stop that," Cedric said. "I can hear when you're scared, you know. Your pulse speeds up."

"I'm not afraid of you."

He was lying, but Cedric appreciated it. "I am," he said.

Harry breathed slowly, deliberately slowing his pulse. "Better?" he asked.

It wasn't, really. Hearing Harry control his breath like that made Cedric entirely too aware of the other boy's body. But that was the last thing that Harry need to know.

Cedric forced a smile. "The room didn't provide you for my lunch, if that's what you're thinking. I get normal food. Steak and stuff." He wished that the first food he thought of hadn't been steak.

"Then what?" Harry asked.

"I don't know." But he did. "I've been stuck in this room—Harry, before you, the only person I'd seen in four days was Dumbledore, and that was only for an hour. I'm literally going insane. I've tried to change the room—it won't turn itself into a bloody Quidditch pitch, or even a big enough space to fly in; believe me, I've tested that. I don't even sleep anymore. Dumbledore says vampires don't need to. Do you have any idea how long the days are when you don't sleep?" He realized that he was ranting.

Harry smiled, then. A proper smile, not stiff or scared. He shifted closer to Cedric, even touched him on the arm. Cedric tried to pull away. He knew what his flesh felt like—hard and cold as rock. Harry placed his hand more firmly on Cedric's arm. Cedric could have broken his grip as easily as thinking it. He didn't.

"You need a friend," Harry said. The utter simplicity and rightness of it hit Cedric in the gut. "So, what do you want to do first?"

With a small 'pop', a pack of Exploding Snap cards appeared on the table. Cedric stared at it in disbelief. "I suppose we could start with those," he said.

* * *

Harry took to spending nearly all of his spare time in the Room of Requirement with Cedric. At least Cedric didn't seem inclined to discuss what had happened after the Third Task, the way Ron and Hermione did. Or to avoid him, the way everyone else seemed to want to—either because they were respecting his grief over Cedric or because they were angry that he had let Cedric die.

The truth still wasn't public knowledge. Cedric's parents had actually held a funeral. Harry hadn't attended; he thought some people were angry with him over that. He didn't particularly care. He hadn't told Cedric about the funeral, either, and didn't plan to.

If his presence made Cedric feel better, than Harry was going to be there for him. He didn't understand why Cedric didn't seem to hate or blame him for what had happened, but he was grateful.

It was possible that Cedric wasn't the only one whose needs the Room was reading. Cedric's easy company and forgiveness were the two things Harry clung to in the face of Voldemort's return. He even sought out the room at night, when he couldn't sleep or when the nightmares woke him. Cedric didn't care what time of day or night it was; it was all the same to him.

Ron and Hermione knew the truth. Harry was grateful that Cedric and Dumbledore had agreed that he could tell them. Cedric didn't want them to see him, but he trusted them to keep his secret. Or rather, he trusted Harry. "If you say it's all right, I believe you," he had said.

Privately, Harry suspected that Cedric just knew his life would be easier if Ron and Hermione knew, and was generous enough to want to give him that.

He worried. There were only two days left before the end-of-year feast, and the day after that, the Hogwarts Express would take the students back to London. Harry still wasn't sure what was going to happen to Cedric then. Would he stay in the Room of Requirement? Would he go home to the parents who had already mourned at his funeral? It was Cedric's own choice not to return to classes for the last few days of the year; with the help of Snape's potion, his impulses were enough under control that Dumbledore had suggested he could join the other students. Cedric didn't want to face them or even have the truth revealed, yet.

Harry thought that was a mistake, and had said so. "It will only make next year harder."

"Who says I'm coming back?" had been Cedric's discouraging reply.

Now, after dinner with Ron and Hermione, Harry made his way to the Room of Requirement with every intention of reopening that discussion. He was there to be Cedric's friend, and as far as Harry was concerned, that meant standing up to Cedric when he was being an idiot.

He wasn't prepared to find Cedric slumped sideways on the couch, eyes closed. "Cedric?" There was no answer. Harry crossed the room but stopped himself before he touched Cedric. If Cedric was sick or injured… well, catching a vampire off guard was good for no one. He drew his wand, then reached out to gently shake Cedric's shoulder.

He recoiled. Cedric was cold; that was normal for him. He didn't breathe, either, or have a pulse. So to see him like this, with whatever spark usually animated him gone—"Cedric, so help me, you had better open your eyes right now. I mean it."

A horrible, cold feeling spread up from the pit of Harry's stomach. For a moment, he was in the graveyard again, hearing Pettigrew's curse, seeing Cedric's lifeless body drop to the ground.

"No. You're not dead. Dumbledore said you weren't really dead."

Dumbledore.

Harry ran, barely noticing that the door in the wall appeared just as he needed it.

He knew that he passed students on the way to the Headmasters' office. They didn't matter. He went around, or shoved them out of the way if he had to, without seeing their faces or hearing their protests.

Somehow, he was at Dumbledore's office. The password hadn't changed. The stairs moved, and Harry ran up them as they rotated, to arrive, breathless, in Dumbledore's office.

"Harry! What—?"

"Something's wrong with Cedric. He won't wake up."

Dumbledore's hands were on Harry's shoulders, holding him steady while Dumbledore peered into his eyes. Abruptly, Harry found himself released.

Dumbledore turned to the portrait behind him. "Find Professor Snape and tell him to meet me in the Room of Requirement. And please do hurry," he said. Then he and Harry were racing together back to the room, the Headmaster's robes flapping behind him.

Harry reached the door first. It opened under his touch. Cedric still lay exactly as Harry had left him. Behind him, he heard Dumbledore's intake of breath.

"Excuse me, Harry," Dumbledore said, not running now but walking over to the couch. He leaned over Cedric and peeled his eyelids back. His hair hid Cedric's face from Harry's view. Harry realized that he was holding his breath, so he exhaled.

"Well," Dumbledore said finally, sitting back. "Well. My goodness. Cedric, my boy, you do continue to amaze me." He sounded pleased.

"What?" Harry nearly shouted. Cedric lay there, perfectly still. He hadn't reacted at all when Dumbledore forced his eyes open. They were closed now, eyelashes dark against his supernaturally pale skin. And Dumbledore was chuckling.

The table rattled and the candles in the room flickered.

"Please do try to control that, Harry," Dumbledore said, waving a hand lazily to neutralize the magic in the air.

"Tell me. What's. Wrong."

"Why, my dear boy, nothing is wrong. Nothing whatsoever. Your friend is simply rather deeply asleep."

"What?" Harry asked again. His knees turned to liquid.

Dumbledore gestured again with his hand and a chair zoomed into place behind Harry. He collapsed onto it.

"I apologize, Harry," Dumbledore said. "You've been frightened. But Cedric is perfectly fine. I was able to reach his mind and confirm it. I expect he'll begin dreaming soon. Ah, Severus. Welcome. I'm afraid that I have disturbed you without cause." Harry hadn't even heard Snape enter the room.

He stared at Cedric. Cedric didn't look fine. He looked dead. "He said vampires don't need to sleep."

"They don't," Dumbledore said. He stroked his beard thoughtfully. "Cedric, it seems, does."

"Headmaster?" Snape asked.

"This is a good sign," Dumbledore said. "A most excellent sign. Cedric's body does not need sleep—I was correct in that assumption. His mind, however, does. Do you see what this means, Harry?"

Harry shook his head. He wasn't in the mood for riddles. He only wanted to know whether or not Cedric was all right.

"His mind is mostly human, Potter," Snape said. "He needs to rest and dream like any of us."

"But he went for days without sleeping," Harry said. "I was in here at all hours of the night."

Snape raised an eyebrow. "Indeed," was all the Potions Master said.

Let him assume what he wanted. Harry didn't care.

"If you were to be deprived of sleep, Harry, there would be warning signs," Dumbledore said gently. "Cedric's body is not affected physically, so there were no such signals. Was he perhaps more irritable of late?"

No more than Harry would have expected, with him being locked in one room all the time. "Maybe," he said.

Dumbledore nodded. "When his mind reached its limit, it simply shut down. This is a good sign, Harry, truly encouraging. I will advise that he follow a more regular schedule in the future, but I am most hopeful."

"Does this mean he'll get better?" Harry asked. He would never have worded it like that if Cedric had been able to hear him.

"It means there is more of the boy Cedric Diggory left behind by Pettigrew's curse even than I had suspected," Dumbledore said. Which wasn't really an answer at all.

Part of Harry felt that someone should be there when Cedric woke up. Another part of him couldn't stand to stay in the same room when Cedric looked so… not alive. With mixed feelings, Harry followed Dumbledore and Snape from the room, making a mental promise to return later and check on his friend.

* * *

Cedric supposed it was a good thing, his mind being mostly human, as Dumbledore had told him. Certainly, being able to sleep for a few hours each night did help pass the time, and he felt better as a result. And it explained how he had been able to override his body's impulses to attack Dumbledore and Harry.

But it didn't really change anything. He held his hand in the waning sunlight again, staring at the evidence that his flesh was not flesh.

The Hogwarts Express was leaving tomorrow. Cedric would not be on it. Dumbledore had made arrangements for him to be transported separately to his parents. Despite their grief, despite the fact that they had held a bloody _funeral_ for him—he had weaseled that one out of Harry, who was a terrible liar—they claimed to want him back.

Perhaps Dumbledore had told them that his brain was human. Perhaps they'd prefer to have just the brain back, in a little glass jar. After all, that would make storage easier. Now that all their friends believed Cedric to be dead, he couldn't imagine being allowed out of the house much.

Merlin, he was morbid. Had he been this morbid before? If Dumbledore was correct, then yes. But he had never before spent quite so much time alone. Cedric was not the type of boy who was often by himself. Correction. Had not been the type of boy who was often by himself.

He found himself counting the hours before each of Harry's visits. It wasn't that he resented the time the other boy spent with his friends, or in classes, or (tonight) at the Year-End Feast. It was just… he enjoyed his company. He looked forward to it, and he had little enough to look forward to these days.

He was moping again. If he didn't stop that, Harry wouldn't want to come see him anymore. Cedric wouldn't blame him.

Well, that didn't matter either, did it? As of tomorrow, Harry would be gone.

As if his thoughts had called Harry, Cedric heard the tiny sound that signaled the appearance of the door.

He listened. The click of opening. Harry stepping into the room. Even without turning around, Cedric could smell him—the roast beef he'd eaten for dinner, a trace of Butterbeer, shampoo faded from that morning's visit, something unique that was Harry. He thought he would never mistake anyone for Harry ever again in his life, just based on scent alone. Sometimes after Harry had gone, a trace of it lingered in the room, and Cedric would concentrate on it, the scent that made him feel almost human, that offered evidence that he still had a friend.

"Hey," Harry said.

"Hey," Cedric said, turning to smile at Harry. All traces of his foul mood vanished with the other boy's presence.

Harry blinked for a moment as if mesmerized, and Cedric realized that he was still standing in the sun, in the last traces of evening sunlight that fell into the room. He stepped away from the window.

"You looked—" Harry started.

Cedric moved closer. "Let's not talk about it, all right? I'm really glad you came." He was grinning like a first year with a crush. Merlin, was he really that lonely and pathetic?

Yes. Yes, he was.

And the sun would be down soon, and Cedric always felt better at night. More normal. He could sleep, if only for a few hours. His skin didn't sparkle. And at night, it wasn't so unusual to go for hours without speaking to another living soul.

"I spoke to the House Elves," Harry said. "I didn't eat dessert. I thought maybe we'd do that together. Since you missed the feast and all." He frowned at the table, concentrating. A selection of desserts appeared… along with a Butterbeer for Harry and an extra helping of Cedric's usual potion. Cedric drank it steadily throughout the day now, rather than only at mealtimes, since he was never sure what time Harry might arrive. And by now the Room knew to provide an extra goblet-full whenever someone else was in the room; no point taking chances.

"Thanks!" Cedric didn't have the heart to tell Harry that he could barely stomach sweets anymore. He sat down in the nearest chair and gestured for Harry to take the other.

Harry eagerly attacked a treacle tart. Cedric sipped at his potion.

"So, ready for the hols?" Cedric asked. He wondered how Harry would be spending them. Cedric remembered summer holidays as a sun-filled time, ideally spent outdoors either on his broom or roaming the woods with friends. Odd, how quickly he had put that behind him.

"I suppose." Harry's face darkened. "Train leaves in the morning, doesn't it, whether we're ready or not."

That was an odd thing to say. "Aren't you looking forward to it?"

"I live with Muggles," was Harry's answer.

Cedric wouldn't have expected Harry to think that was such a bad thing; he had never struck Cedric as an anti-Muggle type. With a shudder, Cedric remembered the Death Eaters at the Quidditch World Cup. No. Harry wasn't like that, but perhaps it was harder living with Muggles than Cedric realized. Certainly, flying would be out of the question. That had to be difficult for Harry. He was as much a natural on a broom as Cedric had ever seen.

"Well… do you have any plans?" Cedric asked. "There must be something."

At that, Harry brightened. "I usually go to stay with the Weasleys in August. You live near them, don't you? Perhaps we can see each other then."

"I'd like that." Merlin, Harry had no idea how much. Even just the idea of it would give Cedric something to hold onto over the summer.

"What about you?" Harry asked. "You…well, it will be good to be out of here, I suppose. But your parents—"

"I expect we'll manage," Cedric said. "They're my parents, after all. Even if… it's been hard for them, I know." But they had always loved him. Cedric didn't put that thought into words. Saying it aloud gave it physical form, and physical forms could be broken.

They hadn't come to visit him. They had given it about that their son was dead.

But surely that was only to give him the space he needed, to adjust to his new life. Once they were all home together and his parents saw that he was still essentially himself… it would be all right. It had to be all right.

"Cedric, they haven't been to see you."

"Well I didn't see your family dropping by either, when you were in the hospital!" As soon as the words were out, he regretted them. Merlin. Why was he being such a bastard? Pushing Harry for details about his summer when it was obvious he didn't want to talk about it. And now this. Unforgiveable.

Harry, somehow, stayed calm. "I haven't got a family," he said. "Not properly. I wouldn't have expected to see them."

"I'm sorry," Cedric said. "Truly. I shouldn't have said that. I don't know why—I'm just scared, that's all. But there's no reason to take it out on you."

Harry gave him a lopsided smile. "But who else have you got?"

The truth of that hit Cedric like a punch to the stomach. "Excuse me," he said. He wheeled away from the table and over to the couch, where he sat with his arms crossed over his body, holding himself in.

The couch, he realized belatedly, was nubby and textured, exactly like the one at home, in Ottery St. Catchpole. The Room had given him his mother's living room couch.

"Cedric." Harry was crouching in front of him. "What is it?"

"Nothing," Cedric said. "I'm sorry. Perhaps you should go." He didn't want that, and something inside him ached at the thought of Harry's last visit being cut short, but truly he was no fit company tonight. Harry should be with his other friends, in Gryffindor Tower, celebrating. Not stuck here with a freak.

He heard Harry move, but the footsteps he was listening for didn't happen. Instead, the couch beside Cedric dipped with sudden weight as Harry sat beside him. Harry touched him, tentative at first, then wrapping his arm around Cedric's shoulders and pulling him close. It was awkward, Cedric being so much taller, but he allowed himself to be pulled down, bowing his back, letting Harry envelop him. It felt wonderful. The heat of Harry's body—he missed human warmth. Harry's scent, around him. Best of all, the heartbeat, right there in his ear. Cedric pressed his head closer against Harry's chest, closing his eyes, letting it echo through him.

He wanted to stay like that forever.

"You can owl me," Harry said. His voice vibrated through his chest. "If you need anything. Anything. Even a game of Exploding Snap. I'll come to Ottery St. Catchpole just for that."

Cedric squeezed his arm lightly in gratitude. He wasn't ready to speak yet, or move. But pressed against Harry as he was, he couldn't miss the hitch in the other boy's breathing, the change in his pulse. Harry was nervous, or… aroused. His body odour changed. Harry shifted, but Cedric was leaning against his chest, looking down. There was no way he could fail to see the growing bulge in Harry's trousers.

Harry tensed. "I'm sorry. I—"

Cedric pulled away, reluctantly.

Harry's face had gone red; Cedric could almost taste the blood rushing beneath the surface. His tongue touched his lips before he realized what he was doing; he was never more grateful for that potion Snape had concocted. He could control himself. Now he needed to reassure Harry.

"It's normal," he said, keeping his voice calm, sensing that Harry was about two seconds away from fleeing. "It's part of… vampires are designed to attract prey. Male or female. It's to do with pheromones or some such. It doesn't mean… it's not something you need to worry about. Or be embarrassed over." His own face had to be nearly as red as Harry's, by now.

Harry shook his head, not meeting Cedric's eyes. "That's not it. I was attracted to you… before."

That wasn't what Cedric had expected. Anger, maybe, or embarrassment. Not that. He swallowed. "Oh."

"It's all right," Harry said. "I know you don't—" He stood.

The smart thing would be to let Harry go. Things were complicated enough.

"Harry," Cedric said, standing as well. "I do. I really do." He took hold of Harry's shoulders. He needed to be touching him; wasn't ready to let that warmth go. He leaned down to cover Harry's lips with his own. It was meant to be gentle, to reassure. The way Cedric had been reassured when he was young and uncertain and infatuated with an older boy.

He hadn't counted on Harry's reaction. It wasn't warmth, it was heat. Harry latched on to Cedric, clumsy and pressing and opening and alive, and Cedric felt himself responding.

He placed his hands on either side of Harry's face, feeling the burn of Harry's skin against his, holding Harry in place so he could deepen the kiss. His tongue swept Harry's mouth, tasting. Harry moaned.

He pulled back just a little, just so he could catch Harry's lower lip between his teeth, but there was a second of resistance, something sharp against something soft, and then the smell of blood.

"Ow!" Harry said, at the same moment as Cedric shoved him away.

Cedric dropped to the floor, curling tight. He covered his mouth and nose with his hand to block the scent of Harry's blood. It didn't work at all. He had the smell of it, and the barest of tastes, and he wanted it.

He felt them, sharp teeth—fangs—that hadn't been there before. Gods. He really was a monster.

Only half aware, he heard Harry mutter a healing spell. The sharp smell of blood abated. Another spell, and it was gone. Harry's scent was almost completely gone; he must have learned a spell to disguise it. The lack of scent was disturbing, but it allowed Cedric to collect himself.

The fangs retracted, leaving only an ache in Cedric's jaw to mark the change. He rubbed at it, absently.

Harry was across the room, leaning over, hands on his knees. He met Cedric's eyes and jerked slightly, as though about to move, but stayed where he was. There was no sign of blood or injury on him.

Cedric knew better. He knew he had bitten him. Harry's first kiss—he was sure it had been the first—and he had turned it into something horrific.

Harry straightened slowly, eyes still on Cedric. "Do you need me to leave?" he asked finally. "I can't tell."

"No," Cedric said. "Only if you want to. I wouldn't blame you. But it's safe. It won't—I won't do that again."

Harry nodded. "Then I'll stay. I suppose… we shouldn't kiss."

"We shouldn't kiss," Cedric said. He couldn't get past the feeling of unreality. Everything felt distant, as though it were happening to someone else.

"I liked it," Harry said, taking a step closer. "Up until the end. I want you to know that."

Cedric closed his eyes. Harry was still terribly young, even younger than Cedric had been, that first time. He heard Harry approach, and then Harry was pressing something into his hand. A goblet.

"I asked the Room for it," Harry said. "It seems to help you."

The potion. He drank. The slightly sour taste told him it was laced with a calming draught again. A strong one. He wondered if that was Harry's idea, or the Room's.

"Come sit down," Harry said.

"I'm tired," Cedric admitted. It was true. Only his mind ever tired, not his body, but right now his mind felt completely overwhelmed. He wanted to shut down and have hours pass without him keeping track of them.

"Then we'll lie down," Harry said.

He had said 'we'. "Are you sure?"

By way of answer, Harry took Cedric's hand and led him to the bed. The younger boy kicked off his shoes, then lay on top of the covers, looking expectantly at Cedric.

That gave Cedric's body other ideas, but he resolutely conjured up images of Professor Sprout in knickers. Harry was too young and things were too complicated. And frankly, he was too exhausted.

Besides, on a purely selfish note, Harry was the only friend he had right now. Cedric couldn't afford to muck that up any more than he already had.

This, though—the comfort of a warm body beside his in bed, a heartbeat under his ear—this was something he wanted very badly. He lay down, grateful for the fatigue that was already starting to darken the edges of his vision. Harry pulled him close and he fell asleep listening to the steady thump of his friend's heart.

When he woke, Harry was gone. Cedric buried his face in the pillow that still smelled of Harry and wished for a thousand impossible things.


End file.
